Baby, I Don't Have Much...But I Have More Than Enough To Keep You
an excerpt

"Mira," Mollie says, sighing exasperatedly. "We are not going jungle hopping or anything, okay? And we aren't going to need survival skills. We—" she gestures to the people around her, "—are going to Peru to study and help the people there. We are NOT going to pretend like we're on some crap TV show that's run for way too long. Do you understand?"

"Whatever, Mollie. You're pretentious, you know that?" Mira snaps, turning away from her.

"And you're WRONG," I hear Mollie mutter under her breath as she also turns away. I silently agree with her, but being who I am, I don’t voice my thoughts, I just let it go.

Finally, the two stop talking completely, and a silence of sorts engulfs the plane. It's not fully silent—I don't think it can be, what with all the plane noise, flight attendants chatting, and whatever else going on, but it's a calm and crisp silence. It's as if no one dares to say anything. And believe me, on a flight FULL to the brim with teenagers, it's an unusual thing to have. But sometimes, I find that I'm the exception to the rule in many ways.

For one, I don't consider myself a chatty person. It's not that I'm standoffish; it's just that I don't necessarily have anything worth saying. I am an artist, a dreamer, and I'd rather observe than BE observed.

The only exception to that rule is when I'm dancing. Suddenly, all these words and feelings that couldn't be expressed with just talking fall out, and I…feel. Truly feel. There's no more of this almost numb existence that I've been experiencing in my life for awhile (longer than I would care to remember, or acknowledge). Instead, there is finally something more. Something that I know can be expressed. And something worth watching.

Secondly, I am under no delusions that this experience is going to be anything even remotely close to survivor-like. In fact, it's going to be very much as Mollie described it—study, work, and help people. And I have to be honest here—it's not something I'm really looking forward to.

Don't get me wrong, please. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, a misanthrope. I am (or WAS, at least) comfortable with my life. But at the same time, I have absolutely no desire to go to Peru and (insert shudder here) STUDY. I have a decent vocabulary, and I may be semi-eloquent, but I truly dislike studying. To the MAX. I've never been a good student. So, to get into one of the best international programs for teens, something that's nonprofit, helps people, gets you a fabulous education and whatnot, was unexpected. However, the more I think about it, I know exactly how it happened. And I can't say that I'm truly pleased with how my life is turning out.

Let me start from the beginning. My name is Emilia Katherine Adams, and I'm seventeen years old with almond colored hair (that's how someone once described it and it's stuck) and hazel-ish eyes. I'm not very tall, and yeah, my name is a tribute to Shakespeare (my brother got the normal name—he's Joshua William. Nothing weird there.) And, for the record, it is pronounced exactly the same as Amelia is pronounced. My parents are just wacky, and don't want to spell it that way. As you may have guessed, I am a dancer. That's all that matters to me at the moment. There. That's the basics.

Now to get into my life story. I've been dancing, and been home schooled, since I was five. And up until the beginning of this year, I did all of that with my closest friend, Chellie Robinson.

Ah, but how times have changed. Dear old Chellie blew out her knee and couldn't dance anymore. Suddenly, she's got a boyfriend, has abandoned dancing for diving, of all things, and is attending Westwood Academy. In essence, leaving me, her other half stuck behind, not knowing what to do.

I gave her an ultimatum—show up at my dance show or we're through. Surprise of the year: she didn't show. For awhile, I had tricked myself into think that she might show up, and things could go back to the way they were. Fat chance of that happening now. We haven't spoken since.

And the dance show? Horrible. Awful. Horrendous. Any other adjective that describes the worst of the worst belongs with that dance show. And the worst part? It was on MY HEAD. I put my freaking heart and SOUL into that dance show. And what happens? My lead drops out and has to be recast, it's terrible after that, and no one who had bought tickets for after opening night showed up.

And the world, as unforgiving as it is, has rejected me, bypassed me as if it's the most normal thing in the world to do. My chance to do the only thing THAT I HAPPEN TO BE GOOD AT IN THE WORLD is gone. Is it such a wonder that I feel like screaming? Not just screaming—crying, tearing my hair out, and smashing everything in sight. But I can't do that. I have to have a mini-meltdown INSIDE, because no one must know the emotional turmoil that just BUBBLES inside me. Shame, isn't it?

And of course, things have gone downhill from there. I can't eat or sleep and I constantly fight with my parents. I'm missing my best friend, but I can't swallow my pride and call her. And I highly doubt she misses me. Hey, I'm not even sure I would miss me if I were her.

Okay, enough of the pity party. I'm supposed to be EXPLAINING what I'm doing here, not COMPLAINING about being here.

So about a month ago (back in November, it's late December as sit on this plane) my parents presented me with a letter, informing me that I had been accepted into the Peruve It! 2008 second semester program. (Lame title, I know.)

This unfolded into a series of events that led me being shipped off to Peru to study and help people. And that's where I am now.